


The Ramblings of An Introvert

by bookofreid



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-25 23:52:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13845654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookofreid/pseuds/bookofreid
Summary: A collections of letters written by Spencer Reid as he finds out what it means to be in love. Taken and tweaked from my reader-insert series on tumblr(bookofreid)





	1. Chapter 1

_March 15th_

Dear Friend,

It's been awhile since we've spoken so I hope this letter finds you in good health. You've been one of the few who I've ever felt truly understood and so I apologize if you find my ramblings too intimate or crossing boundaries. You don't have to reply to these letters. In fact, you don't even have to read them if you don't want to.

I've been struggling with my demons lately. I can't sleep. My mind feels fogged, and I can't even concentrate on the cases as much as I usually do. I'll start thinking about victimology and about how to narrow our location down. But in an instant my mind just shuts down and I'm left staring blankly at the map in front of me for minutes, but never truly seeing the lines of patterns across the city. I think JJ has noticed. She's walked in a few times and caught me staring off into space. I noticed the flash of worry in her eyes. I don't want to burden them with my emotions so I keep it to myself whenever they ask.

I don't know whether this pain is true or stems from my mind and my loneliness. I lie awake at night and I feel as if there's nothing out there for me. I'm good at what I do. I catch killers. I bring justice. My genius mind is an asset that the BAU can't afford to lose. It's easy to get lost in the accolades. Even easier to keep your mind busy when there's so much evil to be caught. But what no one ever talks about is that feeling of being forsaken that seeps into you the moment you're alone in your home, the one place that should provide at least an ounce of comfort after a troubling day.

Sometimes I lay in bed for hours and it's like I can still feel the Dilaudid running through my veins. It's almost as if nothing has changed despite the years passing, friends leaving, and the lines on my face becoming more prominent. It's hard, for a lack of a better word as I write this at ungodly hours of the morning when you are surely asleep. I never thought it would be this way. Picturing a bright future was always what got me through my childhood. It's the reason I endured the teasing. The reason I even put my mom away. The day I joined the FBI I thought, finally, I found my place.

That was true for a while. I'm not so sure anymore.

Best Regards,  
Spencer

* * *

_March 28th_

Dear Friend,

I continue to feel the same way. I still find myself caught up in my own head. I've begun to have migraines again and it terrifies me to think that I may be heading down the same road as my mother. I always knew I was special, but the moment I realized that my genius stemmed from an illness, suddenly I didn't feel special anymore. I felt cursed. I'm going to see a doctor soon. Maybe they'll figure out what's wrong this time around. I try to convince myself that it's just from lack of sleep because that's a much more comforting thought than the other possibility.

We got a new team member today. It seems like the millionth one now. It's like everyone moves on with their lives but I always seem to stay. Maybe it's because my job gives me the validation that I so desperately need. My only friends are here. That plays a role as well. At this point of my life the mere thought of change strikes a certain fear in me. I want things to be stable. I want to find joy and love. I dream of finding the perfect person. No, I take that back. She doesn't even have to be perfect. She just has to be loving, she just has to be understanding. I come with a lot of baggage, and maybe that's the reason why I remain alone. No one wants to date the man who sent their own mother away, who was addicted to a drug, who either babbles on over insignificant matters or remains silent for hours. No one wants someone who requires patience.

Anyway, I was left rooted to the floor the moment she walked in with JJ. I had never seen anyone so beautiful before. She introduced herself and I didn't shake her hand. I wanted to, but you know how I am. I was afraid that she would be insulted but thankfully she wasn't. Her eyes seemed so lively and her smile was… I can't think of the word to describe it. That's how much she took me by surprise, that I of all people can't think of a damn word.

I hope she stays. She radiates a warmth I've never felt before. It's something I could get used to.

Best Regards,  
Spencer


	2. Chapter 2

_April 14th_

Dear Friend,

I went to the doctor today. I finally forced myself after putting it off for a few weeks as I am reluctant to accept any diagnosis at the moment. I don't know what's worse; knowing or not knowing. They're both equally terrifying to me. They did a variety of different tests, many with names too long for me to bother stating them for you, in order to try and pinpoint what was going on inside of my body. They said they'd call with the results in a few days and I've been trying to push the thought away the moment I left the hospital building.

Our newest member continues to win everyone over as the days pass by. After the constant come and go of dear friends, everyone was skeptical about allowing her into their hearts. After only two weeks, it seems as if everyone naturally gravitates towards her.

"She's great, isn't she?" Penelope asked me one random day. I wasn't expecting the question, so I could only mutter back a one worded answer.

"Yeah."

She stood there, making herself coffee like she did every morning. I'm not sure what it was exactly that constantly drew my attention to her. Sometimes I wouldn't even notice until she cleared her throat, and my cheeks would burn as I realized that I had been gazing at her as if she was a piece of art and I was merely an admirer who could do nothing but wonder what the beautiful strokes of art felt like underneath my fingertips.

I know what you're thinking, but she has a boyfriend. I immediately shut down the idea of her ever being interested in me the second I found out. Just my luck, right? It wasn't as if I ever stood a chance anyhow. Someone with that kind of luminous grace obviously attracts all sorts of suitors. She didn't speak much about him, just saying that he was an ex-marine. She showed us a picture of the two of them and he was definitely well built, his body the complete opposite of my own. I'm not entirely sure how that made me feel but I know it wasn't ecstatic.

"Do you love him?"

Her smile wavered and I wondered if I had crossed a line by asking the simple question. I didn't think I had, but the look on her face that flashed for a fraction of a second was enough to convince me otherwise. I suppose I still lack skill when it comes to social cues.

"Yeah," she replied softly, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear uncomfortably, "of course."

I couldn't help but notice the lack of excitement in her voice as she spoke. Whenever JJ speaks about Will there's a hint of adoration laced between her words, the thought of him enough to bring her a sense of comfort during our days filled with nothing but death and violence. Her voice was absent of these things. Her eyes seemed to dull as she forced a smile when Penelope asked to know more, only to hastily change the subject when she saw her reaction. Penelope has picked up a few profiler tricks, and reading body language is certainly one. I think she knew that we all noticed. That's just something profilers do.

Best Regards,  
Spencer

* * *

_June 25th_

Dear friend,

I apologize for not writing sooner. You may have been worried, or you may have not. Either way, I apologize.

We recently dealt with horrible cases that seemed to happen back to back without giving us any room to breathe. I welcomed it, though. It gave me a distraction from my own mind.

As for my medical issue, the results are in and yet again, nothing. I remember thinking that maybe I'm just going insane. Maybe I've hit some sort of wall, that mid-life crisis except instead of buying something extravagant my body decided to turn on me. To internalize that fear of change into a physical pain.

But I'm not old enough to be anywhere near that stage in life and I shouldn't be complaining because the headaches have lessened. I hate to admit, or rather I'm embarrassed to, but I credit her for it. She has surprisingly been so wonderfully kind, bringing me a peace of mind that helps me sleep at night. I found myself talking to her until the late hours during one of our cases. She had knocked on my door with a cheap bottle of wine after noticing the way I had riled up when our case involved children being bullied. It was like she saw straight through me then, finally understanding what made the "eccentric genius" the way he was.

We sat together in my bed for hours. She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, her cheeks flushed from the glass of alcohol in her hands. And we spoke about everything. She spoke of her childhood, of her school experiences, of her most embarrassing moments.

And her laugh, my god her laugh. It was like genuinely experiencing happiness for the first time.

Have you ever looked at someone who you've known for a while, and then they do something that changes everything? I've heard stories. I've read about them too. About the way suddenly someone smiles and it's the most enchanting thing you've seen even though you shouldn't be affected. Or about the way the sunlight illuminates them and suddenly it's as if they've transformed into this angel sent from heaven just for you, and just like that your mind doesn't belong to you anymore.

Instead it's consumed by thoughts of them. It's the way they smile, the way they light up the room, the way they know exactly what to say at the exact moment you need to hear it. I had heard about these experiences, but I always thought it was fiction. That they were just words painting pictures from a hopeless romantic's mind.

It wasn't until I heard her laugh that I understood. Since that moment that's all I can picture. Her head tilted, resting on her knees as she looked at me with glossy eyes and rose red cheeks, her lips parted in a soft laugh.

I always prided myself in my knowledge of art. I always knew the different brush strokes, the colors, the inspiration behind each piece. I had the library and my lack of social skills growing up to thank for that. Until that moment I never truly understood the role of a muse. I knew the definition, but I didn't comprehend the depth of feeling behind it. I've never been an artist, that much can be seen from the doodles in the edges of my books, but there was something about her that made me want to pick up a paintbrush and paint her in golds and silvers, to somehow capture the beauty of her essence onto a piece of canvas that I could cherish forever. Instead I found her in my dreams- in reds, yellows, and blues, looking at me with those same sparkling eyes from that fateful night. She was something I had never seen before. She was something I wasn't ready for.

For once my fear of the dark doesn't seem too horrible as long as I get to see her once the light trickles back in.

Best Regards,  
Spencer


	3. Chapter 3

_July 2nd_

Dear Friend,

Have you ever seen something that felt like a kick to your stomach? As if someone had knocked the wind out of you, with your knees shaking as they threatened to fall underneath you and send you tumbling down, ready to cause even more pain than you were already feeling. When the air is knocked out of your lungs and you feel yourself gasping, desperate to stay alive and yet feeling as if the world holds nothing for you, your mind unconsciously deciding whether to labor on or simply give up.

That is exactly how I felt when she threw herself between me and the bullet that escaped our unsub's gun, headed straight for me with a terrifying malice behind it. I could see myself moving towards her as she fell to the floor, clutching her side as waves of red terror poured from her. I could feel my hands applying pressure as another distant gunshot went off, this time bringing the man across the room to his own knees. But I didn't care that he was down, that he was taking his last breath just steps away from me. All that mattered was that the girl in front of me didn't stop fighting for her own life. And my mouth muttered words that I can't even recount for you because all I could hear was my own blood pumping as the thought of losing her passed through my mind.

I've always known the risks of the job. I am well aware that each day out in the field could be my last, and therefore I try to remain mindful of what I say and do with others. The last thing I ever want is to leave this world and have someone believe that I hated them, or that I was indifferent. And as my hands pressed against her, the words falling from my lips desperately trying to keep her with me as her eyes threatened to close, all I could think about was that.

_"I think I'll take a day for myself when we get home. Just a day to maybe drive out to an open field and sit and ponder life. Maybe look at the night sky once the stars are out. It would be so nice to get away from everyone," she said as she yawned, the irises of her eyes beginning to appear red from exhaustion after staying up until ungodly hours of the morning._

_"That sounds incredibly relaxing. And slightly dangerous to be out all alone in an open field."_

_She smiled that million dollar smile that made my heart flutter as if it was not an organ but instead a hummingbird trying to break free._

_"You're welcome to join."_

_"I thought you said you wanted to get away from everyone."_

_Her smile softened as her eyes seemed to shine, breaking through their tiredness as if to provide me with a glimmer of hope._

_"I don't think I'd want to get away from you," she replied lightly, a soft laugh escaping her captivating lips. "You. I could keep you around forever."_

_I simply grinned, unable to speak as the mere warmth of her being radiated from her and through me. My throat closed, overwhelmed by the feeling of somehow being touched by her soft sound, a feeling so gentle it was but a ghost of something more profound._

The ambulance took her away. We rushed behind it, waiting in complete silence as she was thrown into surgery. My sweaty hands clenched the fabric of my pants the entire time as my mind screamed, cursing me for not having replied earlier.

I could keep her around forever. I wanted to. I needed to. She was an integral part of my life now after having arrived so suddenly. I found the stereotypical fairy tale roles reversed this time around as I found myself being the one who was unsuspectingly swept off his feet by a woman who wasn't even aware she was doing so.

Garcia called her boyfriend. He didn't even bother to show. I felt my anger flare, consuming me in chaotic waves as my hands shook. How could someone not care about their significant other being hospitalized? How could anyone show indifference when such a beautiful creature laid in suffering? How could someone like that possibly have a hold on someone so breathtakingly wonderful that my heart ached at her voice. It ached with need at the graceful hints of kindness laced in between every syllable she spoke.

She didn't ask for him once. She took one look around the room and it was like she knew he had not been there. Instead we crowded her, bringing her arrangements of roses and lilies to brighten up the barren white constraints of the small hospital room. She acted as if nothing had happened, as if the gunshot that had nearly stolen her away from us had been nothing but a scratch, the scraped knee of a child at play. She was nothing but happy despite being stuck in that room as she recovered.

It wasn't until I finally had her alone that I allowed myself to weep. I apologized for having put her life in danger because I was being careless, trying to reason with an unsub who was so blatantly gone past the edge. And she shook her head furiously, her eyes wide with disbelief as she assured me that it was not my fault. She repeated that multiple times but my cries wouldn't stop until she finally reached over and pulled me into a hug, wincing as I collided against her stitches but not ever complaining about it.

"Spencer, I would do it again if it meant saving your life."

How am I meant to live this way? What does one do with unrequited love? I have heard endless tales of its torments, of how it is the one thing known to kill a man as it grows. How am I meant to continue seeing her as only a friend when I want nothing more than to know what it is like to hold such a delicacy in my arms? How am I meant to live when my own fear stops me from admitting it?

Best Regards,  
Spencer

* * *

_August 3rd_

Dear Friend,

She and I recently went on that soul searching trip she had previously spoken about once she was better. I was taken by surprise when she pulled up to my apartment with a truck I had never seen before only to be told she had borrowed it from a friend specifically for the adventure. I hadn't realized just how serious she had been about the need to take such a day off until that moment.

We drove out to a field of daisies and laid on the soft ground, feeling the heat from the earth warm our backs. We laid there for hours, at first in comfortable silence and then with light conversation that seemed to flow easier than a river's current. The jokes so effortlessly dripped from my lips and her laughter drifted through the air with genuine amusement to them. I could try to explain just how happy I was at that moment as I stared at her sparkling eyes and the way she seemed to finally let go. I could try to explain how it felt to see her roll around in nature with flowers tangling themselves into her hair, the way beautiful things tend to gravitate towards other beautiful things, as if even the flowers knew how special she was and longed to be a part of her. I could try to explain the amount of joy I felt as we spoke as if we had been friends for ages, reincarnated in every lifetime and bound by string, waiting to be intertwined and tangled into each other's lives once more. I could try to explain, but no words would ever be enough to capture it all.

The day was gone in the blink of an eye and before I knew it, she was pulling out blankets and setting them up in the back of her truck. Like a magician she pulled pillows out of thin air and made the hard metal more comfortable than my own bed back home. So we sat at the edge of her truck as the sky was painted in shades of pinks and golds, as the day waved goodbye in its most glorious manner, both feeling overwhelmed by the knowledge that the day would soon come to an end and neither wanting to accept it.

The night came soon after and concealed the flowers we had laid upon just hours before. I felt myself stare straight ahead of me in absolute fear of not being able to see, feeling nearly suffocated by the sudden darkness. A gentle hand landed upon my shoulder, and it was her. She beckoned me to lay onto the pile of blankets beside her. So I did. And as soon as I did so it was as if the stars decided to come out and play. They lit up the sky the same way she lit up my soul, and I found myself staring at her as her wondrous gaze looked on as each speck of sparkling light emerged and consoled us from the fear of darkness. As if they were a reminder that they were there watching above us, their brilliance enough to comfort the terrors of my childhood.

My hand dared to reach for hers as I mentally prepared myself for the rejection I would face, for the speed in which she would immediately pull back. I prepared myself for the inevitable words that would be spoken as she would remind me that she belonged to another. I prepared myself to see her pull away, to maybe even climb into the driver's seat and speed off as she left me stranded in the middle of a field of flowers.

Imagine my surprise when her fingers instead intertwined with mine, the feel of her skin more satisfying than I could have ever imagined. I felt a gentle shiver shoot up my spine as I realized that she had accepted the timid gesture. Imagine the giant goofy smile that undoubtedly spread onto my face as she silently held onto me, gently but surely, her own gaze never once leaving the skies above us.

My mother used to tell stories about the stars. I think it began when she realized I had a fear of the dark. She would go on about how each speck of light was an angel who watched over the billions of humans on earth. About how they kept us safe at night, protecting everyone, especially children, from the monsters that lurked in the shadows. I often found comfort in thinking back to those stories, but I didn't need it that night. I didn't need to believe that there were angels in the sky when I had one laying beside me.

Best Regards,  
Spencer


	4. Chapter 4

_August 20th_

Dear Friend,

I wish I could tell you that after that day, the one that felt as if all of my dreams had come true, that she and I had a happy ending. I wish I could say that she fell so in love with me as we both stared at the skies above us that she went home and smiled, laughed, even giggled like a teenager in love for the first time. I wish I could say that she left her boyfriend, a man who was really no good for her, and ended up at my apartment in the dead of night with nothing but a small suitcase of her belongings and a gentle smile on her face. I wish I could tell you that I took her into my arms, only to find ourselves in bed as we made love the way poets do, with fingertips delicately etching words of adoration into each other's skin as the night sky filled with the same stars that had watched us before.

I wish I could say that, but then I'd be lying.

The truth was that she didn't show up to work the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that. Hotch announced that she had called him and asked for time off. That was that. Hotch made it clear that he would answer no questions regarding it although everyone's minds scrambled to understand. Nothing good ever came when someone asked for time off so suddenly. That was always reserved for emergencies; deaths in the family, sudden serious sickness or injury, or something along those lines. So everyone worried, myself included.

She reappeared a week later and we all felt our hearts sink to our stomachs the moment she walked in. She wore large sunglasses, the first indicator of what had happened. Despite the large frames covering her face we were still able to see the subtle ring of purple around her eyes, and the bruises on her arms which she desperately attempted to conceal with the sleeves of her shirt. The way she walked had changed. Before she would glide with the grace of angels, of a queen walking among her people with her head held high, knowing her worth and the admiration she held from others. Now she walked as if she wanted nothing more than to blend into the shadows and disappear. She had been beaten down into someone we failed to recognize.

She and Hotch remained locked away in his office for what seemed like hours that first day. Time passed on excruciatingly slow and my mind screamed, begging me to go and see what was happening. Everyone sat in silence when she finally emerged and took a seat at her desk, giving us nothing but an empty smile and no explanation. We all stared, but no one spoke. Our fears were too great to do so.

What is one meant to do when they know someone they care about finds themselves in a troubling situation? No one wants to give unsolicited advice, and no one wants to be the one to finally address the elephant in the room. Yet my heart aches as the days pass by and the bruises slowly fade. I live in fear of seeing them appear again, fresh and hideous against the skin of someone whose body deserves to be worshipped as a temple, not beaten down as if it was nothing more than another useless object.

Everyone moves around her carefully now as if she’s a porcelain doll who needs to be handled with care. The most noticeable change among us is Hotch. Perhaps it’s simply my mind over-analyzing, but his stares seem to linger longer. His hands brush against her comfortingly whenever he passes by, and he assigns her the lightest tasks he can. Maybe it’s simply his way of attempting to help her, but it’s begun to upset me. No one else seems to notice so I assume it’s just my emotions getting the best of me. I remind myself that I have no right to feel jealous over someone who’s not mine to begin with.

Best Regards,  
Spencer

* * *

_August 29th_

Dear Friend,

My mind was not overanalyzing. I was not reading too much into it, and I wasn’t imagining things. No, that would have been much too kind of life to do to me. Instead it seemed to laugh in my face as it dangled what I loved in front of my eyes, wrapped in the arms of someone else.

I hadn’t meant to walk in on them. I don’t know why I didn’t knock that day, but I cursed myself for not doing so. I felt my heart shatter in ways I wasn’t aware I could even feel, as if someone had torn it out of my body and proceeded to stab it multiple times until it was no longer existent.

Hotch pulled away from her the second I barged in unannounced. He looked slightly angry at my intrusion while she merely stumbled back, a confused look written across her face as she looked between us. I could still see the remains of her lipstick on his lips, a pale pink color that was so subtle any other person would have missed it, but I didn’t. I muttered a quick apology before storming off and I found myself in the men’s bathroom, staring blankly at my reflection as my mind replayed the scene.

Was there always something going on between her and Hotch? My mind raced as it struggled to dig up previous situations. I came up empty, only being able to think of the recent events. There was nothing prior to that that came up. Nothing to indicate some form of affair. Nothing to even hint at it.

Either way I felt my jealousy flare in a way I had never experienced before. I could feel it fill my veins, threatening to turn me into a man I had never been. I could taste its bitterness in my mouth as I pictured her lips against his, and I found myself cursing the man who I had admired since the day I met him. They say jealousy turns you into a different person and I was experiencing that firsthand for the first time in my life.

She wouldn’t look at me at first. I figured it was because she knew my feelings and didn’t want to see the harm she had caused by picking a man, someone who I greatly admired no less, over me. Or maybe it was because she thought I would judge her for it. She still remained with her boyfriend, the picture on her desk evidence of that.

But then I saw the way she moved away from Hotch’s touch. I saw the way she would try to distance herself as much as possible from him whenever we sat down for a case. The way she would sit on the opposite side of the plane and cling to JJ as if she were her lifeline. There was a look of anger and disappointment that crossed her eyes whenever she was left alone with him.

That’s when I realized that my mind had misconstrued what I had seen. The look in her eyes when I had barged in was not confusion. It was contempt. It was anger at the way Hotch had taken advantage of her vulnerability to make his move as he himself could no longer contain the feelings he had come to harbor for her. She hadn’t avoided my looks out of guilt, but out of shame. She thought I viewed her as some lowly woman sleeping with her boss even though that wasn’t the case. She couldn’t be more wrong.

I may not have much experience when it comes to love, but I know it’s not supposed to hurt in such a cruel way. It’s not supposed to leave you aching at night, feeling as if you had no one to care for you. It’s not supposed to cause you serious harm, or to bruise you in such a way as it had bruised her.

I’ve seen the way real love hurts. It hurts when you care too much, when you want nothing more than to be with the one your heart belongs to. It hurts when things are said, when things are done, all actions that are capable of puncturing the sensitive soul of someone whose devotions are pure.

I saw it with Hotch and Haley before her passing. I saw it with JJ and Will.

This was the type of hurt that you struggled through because the love held between was worth so much more than the heartache. These were the situations in which love caused pain, but also gave you something to fight for.

We all breathed a sigh of relief when the picture of her boyfriend disappeared off of her desk. No one made a comment about it. No one asked. We simply knew. And we were happy.

I hope I find my strength soon to confess what I feel to her. I want to tell her that my heart belongs to her, and has for a while. To explain how she has taken hold of it with her charming smile and melodic laughter. To finally tell her of how I dream of what it would be like to simply hold her in my arms and know that she reciprocates every single ounce of love that moves in waves throughout me every time I catch sight of her. To tell her how I have fallen in love with her thoughts and the way she often speaks aloud to herself when she thinks no one is watching. To tell her I have fallen in love with the way she so often puts others before her. To tell her that I would put her first, that I do put her first.

To remind her that love is still worth believing in.

To remind her that she is still worth loving.

Best Regards,  
Spencer


End file.
